


The Children of a Ghost

by theletterelle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, HYDRA Trash Party, Multi, Protectiveness, cloning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has to keep his children safe. They don't know what HYDRA is like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Children of a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Some Hydra assholes start forcing the asset to sit still as they jerk him off, then save his cum in test tubes. They tell him it's for a cloning program to get them replicas of the Winter Soldier. In reality, there is no such program. But threatening to harm his (nonexistent) children is a good way to keep the asset in line and work harder, no?
> 
> (inspired by several different prompts about Bucky having/thinking he has a kid)
> 
> \+ WS spends his downtime thinking of what he would have named them if he got the chance and wondering how they're doing. 
> 
> ++ After a particularly successful mission WS tries to get up his courage to ask Pierce if he can visit them
> 
> +++ He fails and goes back to cryo feeling guilty

The ceiling is white, and very far away. There are pits in the gridded tiles. The grid is order. Order is security. The Soldier regulates his breathing and pays no attention to the shuddering of his body against the metal table. It’s just an involuntary reaction. He is strapped down firmly enough that it can’t interfere with the techs’ work, so he’s free to wander the expanse of the ceiling until they’re finished.

It’s nice up there.

When they’re done, the techs screw a lid on the cup and wipe down the Soldier’s stomach and thighs with alcohol-soaked pads. He stays still and quiet. He’s been through the procedure before, he thinks, probably several times, since he knows its purpose. He doesn’t know when they started, though, or how many times it’s happened.

There are many experiments he’s been a part of, many samples of blood and skin and hair and bone taken from him. He hasn’t cared enough to remember what they were for. But this one, this is different. The Soldier wants to know everything about this program, but he’s afraid to ask. He’s sure it’s need-to-know only, like so much in his life, and asking will only bring trouble, and maybe a session in the chair to teach him that HYDRA knows best.

But the techs were the ones who told him what the experiment was. They’d only have themselves to blame if he starts asking questions. Will that make a difference? Probably not. But they talked first; maybe they won’t mind if he asks them to tell him more. If he holds still and doesn’t get angry again. He concentrates on that so much that he doesn’t shiver at the bite of alcohol evaporating on his skin. When the straps come off, he lets the hand guide him to a sitting position. He makes no threatening moves. He makes no moves at all that they don’t direct.

The tech whose hand is on him-- Dave, he thinks he’s seen him before and he thinks the name is Dave-- says “Who gets him next?”

“He’s scheduled for a training run,” says the other one. “Rollins should be here in a sec to come get him.”

The Soldier has a limited window. He speaks quietly. “How many are there?” 

Dave jerks, looking alarmed. The other tech grabs for her gun. The Soldier doesn’t move, not even to hold up his hands in surrender. “I won’t hurt you,” he says. “I just want to know how many you’ve gotten from the experiment.”

“How...many,” the woman says. Her mouth twitches, then presses into a firm line. Dave still looks ready to scream. She takes a better grip on her gun. “Why do you ask, Soldier?”

She hasn’t called for guards or shot him herself, so the Soldier feels himself on firmer ground. “Do I… are there children?”

Dave lets out a high-pitched giggle, but the other tech glares at him and he shuts up. She looks the Soldier up and down, as if considering whether he’s worthy of information. He tries his very best to look nonthreatening. Her mouth twitches again, but she remains composed. “Three. We’ve had three viable results.”

Three. “Thank you.” Dave giggles again, and the other tech scowls at him. They aren’t angry at the Soldier, though, and he’s proud of himself for asking. Very soon Rollins comes to claim him, and the Soldier follows obediently.

*

The Soldier turns off his mind for training. He’s not meant to think; he’s meant to react and allow his muscles to think for him. There are knives, there are guns, and near the end of the fifth run he wrenches a piece of iron tubing out of a railing and hurls it like a javelin. It comes as a surprise to the agent running away from him. The Soldier chases after her partner, skating through her blood without missing a step. 

HYDRA is pleased with him. Five runs, eight kills. He watches the STRIKE team agents smile and bump their fists together. The Soldier is quiet, hands behind his back, feet apart and head tilted down. He is a danger to the bad agents, those who have disobeyed HYDRA and tried to bring it down from within, but never to the obedient ones.

The mission briefing isn't scheduled till the next day, when the Secretary will be available. The Soldier is returned to a room, given three boxes of MREs, and told to stay until someone comes to let him out.

He sits on the cot and eats ravenously, drinking from the sink to wash it down. He's always hungry. The doctor used to talk to him about calories, telling him to eat, eat, eat, to be strong and powerful and defeat their enemies. He doesn't get as much to eat since the doctor went away, though. The Secretary tells him hunger is good, that it keeps him sharp and focused. 

When he’s finished, he drinks more water to fill himself up as full as he can, and then he sits back on the cot, relaxes and allows himself to think again. Three. Three results. Three children.

They're clones (he knows what _clones_ are without knowing how he knows), all male like him. He wonders what they're named. If he had been asked (he would never be asked), he would have named the first one... Grant. The name floats into his mind. He doesn't remember hearing it before, but it's a good name. Roger for the next, and then maybe... Steven. That sounds right.

He tries to imagine Grant standing before him. The two of them would be of a height, and he'd have dark hair like the Soldier does, with pale skin. He'd be wearing a uniform just like the Soldier has. He'd have Roger and Steven behind him, both of whom would look just like him, dressed in uniforms with tactical vests.

They would be armored. They would be Soldiers, his children. 

His stomach seizes at the thought, and his hands grow cold. Grant might not be old enough to wear a uniform. Grant might be very young. His brothers might be babies. They won't know how to behave; they won't know the punishments for crying or for stepping wrong or dropping things or giving the wrong answer. The Soldier has a vision of Grant, small and scared, strapped down for an upgrade. Roger limping, a trail of blood left behind him during a training session. Steven, sitting in the chair.

He jumps up and paces from one end of the room to the other, six steps and turn, six steps and turn. Maybe HYDRA will let the Soldier do their missions, until he's trained them enough. Maybe the Secretary will let him punish them when they cry; he thinks that would be better for them, because their father loves them and doesn’t want them to be afraid. If he’s very good, he might be allowed to sit beside them and hold their hands during reprogramming.

He can’t be still. His lips pull back from his teeth and he grips his left hand with his right. He’s their father. He has to take care of them. He has to show them how to take the bullet drop inches into account when lining up the shot. How to slide the knife between the ribs so it pierces the heart instantly. How to let the pain flow through you without allowing it to overcome you. How to find order in the ceiling.

HYDRA has to let him. It must. He will be so good, he will be _perfect_ every single minute of every single day, forever and ever. He will train them, and they will also be perfect Soldiers, and they will be safe.

*

The Soldier doesn't sleep that night. The briefing the next day is delayed for the Secretary. His team sits at the table, talking quietly, smiling, joking. The Soldier stands dark and silent against the wall. He could stand forever.

Everyone goes quiet when the Secretary comes in. The briefing is short-- two targets, highest discretion, no collateral damage. The Soldier memorizes the faces. He’ll explain to his children how to do that, if the Secretary allows it. The meeting breaks up with a hum of tense excitement, while the Soldier watches Rumlow speak to the Secretary about arrangements.

The Soldier could speak to the Secretary. The Secretary directs the program; he knows about the children, how young they are and how much they have to learn. The Soldier could explain how useful he can be. He’s sure his children would learn quickly, much faster than the Soldier did, with their father guiding them.

Not now. After the mission. When the Soldier shows them all what a good weapon he is, they will be more likely to allow him to make a request. The pressure in his chest eases, and his right fist tightens just a tiny, tiny bit. He stays motionless against the wall.

*

“Mission report,” says the Secretary when they march in, the Soldier surrounded by the STRIKE team. Rumlow starts to speak. The Secretary raises an eyebrow, and Rumlow cuts off before the second word is out of his mouth.

The Secretary looks at the Soldier. “Targets eliminated,” says the Soldier. “No witnesses. The scene is clear.”

The Secretary smiles. The Soldier could drown in that smile. “Good job, Soldier. I knew the country could count on you. STRIKE, you’re dismissed; Agent Rumlow, come with me.”

 _It can_ , the Soldier wants to say, _you can, I will be perfect and I will never let you down, just let me see my sons._ He almost does. His mouth is open. 

There is a hand on his arm. Dave. The Secretary and Rumlow are walking down the hall, and Dave is trying to take the Soldier in the other direction, but he hasn’t gotten to ask yet, and he was good, he was perfect, they have to let him, it’s such a small thing for them, they’re going away, he could shout at them, but that isn’t being good and he’ll get nothing for that but a blow to the face and an extra-long session in the chair. “No.” His left hand grips Dave’s wrist. Dave cries out, and that’s when the guards come.

 _No,_ he wants to explain as one of them swings a rifle butt into his stomach, _you don’t understand, I can be good, I just need this, please let me have this._ The Secretary and Rumlow are gone. Someone gets behind him, and there’s an almighty blow to his head, and the Soldier knows nothing more.

*

He awakens coughing, on his knees and gagging for air while his lungs spew out what’s left of the gel that encases him during cryosleep. Warm water cascades over him, and he wipes his eyes to see a pair of legs in front of him, and hands that haul him to his feet. He staggers but doesn’t fall. When he can see again, it’s the tech...Dave in front of him.

“Hope you enjoyed your nap,” Dave says, dragging the Soldier naked into the hallway. They’re followed by a squad of guards; the Soldier has to prevent himself from developing a contingency plan to neutralize them, and misses Dave’s next words. His vision is still blurred, his balance still precarious.

Dave stops him outside the lab. “Do you remember what you did before you went down?”

The Soldier shakes his head. 

“Yeah, well, I do. And it hurt, y’know? I had bruises for like a month.” Dave opens the door and marches him through, over to the table where the female tech stands. The table’s cuffs are open and ready. The Soldier panics, digging in his heels. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he’s not _ready_ , he just woke up and he’s lost, and then memory falls over him like a wave. 

“I want to see them,” he blurts out. The female tech looks surprised. He’s surprised at himself. Dave tries to force him forward, but the Soldier won’t budge. “Please.” His voice is softer. “Can I see them? I don’t even-- I don’t have to talk to them. I just want to see them. Please?”

He wanted to ask the Secretary, he remembers now, but the Soldier would never dare to ask for an audience. When the Secretary wants to see him, the Secretary comes to him. The Soldier doesn’t initiate. The Soldier obeys.

“Them who?” the female tech asks.

The Soldier fumbles for the words. “The… clones. My children.” He looks from one to the other. “Please.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” says Dave, “you still think--”

“No,” says the female tech, cutting him off. 

The Soldier falls apart inside. The Soldier remains standing. His eyes sting and grow hot but he doesn’t say a word. There’s no recourse when HYDRA says no.

“Unless,” the female tech says. The Soldier stops breathing. “Unless,” she says again, “you can behave yourself and show us that you deserve that opportunity.”

He can. He will. He nods, and only Dave’s hands keep his knees from buckling.

“Then get on the table,” she says, and before she finishes, the Soldier is on his back and staring at the ceiling. The cuffs hum and clamp around his wrists and ankles, and Dave fastens the straps across the Soldier’s chest and thighs. In his peripheral vision, he can see Dave pick up a cup and unscrew the lid, and the female tech snap on a pair of gloves. 

“Children need a father,” he says to the grid of the ceiling.

The tech takes hold of him.


End file.
